


the miniskirt

by Larissa



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Dragoon Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), F/M, Face-Sitting, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), First Time, Hero Worship, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Skirts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23544022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larissa/pseuds/Larissa
Summary: The Warrior of Light walks into the Ocular wearing a miniskirt. The Exarch struggles to maintain his composure.(He never had a chance.)
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 16
Kudos: 155





	the miniskirt

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based off the Nier DRG set, which really does have an incredibly short miniskirt. [Here's what it looks like](https://twitter.com/farfromdaylight/status/1247876399534391297) if you're not familiar. You are welcome to substitute my WOL for the unnamed one in this fic.
> 
> Huge thanks to [runicmagitek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/runicmagitek/) for betaing despite not knowing the canon.

The Warrior of Light is wearing a miniskirt.

Whatever greeting the Exarch was about to offer his dear friend vanishes as he takes in the sight before him. A miniskirt. She’s wearing a miniskirt. By the gods, it barely covers anything. Just a thin strip of fabric that hugs her body so tightly there’s nothing left to the imagination. As if that wasn’t enough, it’s _transparent_ on the sides, amidst a decorative pattern.

He has to hold back a whimper out of sheer reflex. The same cannot be said of the blush filling his cheeks.

Gods, and he’d thought the outfit she’d been wearing last time was something. She’d come through the portal wearing her usual leathers, and returned to the Ocular in a floor-length ball gown featuring a slit nearly to her waist. He’d barely been able to meet her gaze.

(He’s still not sure where she got it. Last time she’d claimed to find the gown in Kholusia. “Got it in this weird abandoned factory,” she’d said, shrugging. “Plus this little guy.” She’d beckoned to the odd mammet floating behind her, but it didn’t so much as twitch in her direction.

The Exarch had been baffled. “You found an evening gown in a factory?”

“It’s a weird factory,” she’d replied, with such a dark look he hadn’t pressed further.)

He had never imagined that there would be _more_ where that came from — and certainly not anything so risqué. And try as he might, he can’t take his eyes off her.

It’s so short he can see her _panties._

That realization shuts off his brain completely, and it’s not until she chuckles and shifts her weight that he realizes he’s staring. He doesn’t even know how long he’s been gaping at her, flushed and open-mouthed.

“You like the outfit, huh?” she says, grinning.

“It’s... quite something,” the Exarch manages. “Another, ah, find?”

“Mm-hm.” She strikes a pose, jutting her hips out to the side as she leans on her spear for balance. “Had to put it on while I was out there. I’m just glad it fits.”

It _fits_ , all right — but somehow that isn’t what he focuses on. “You— you _battled_ in that?!”

“It’s surprisingly durable,” she replies, in a tone that makes him wholly unable to tell if she’s joking.

“I... see.”

Now that the initial shock has passed, he’s able to notice the _rest_ of the outfit: a form-fitting blouse that offers a generous view of her cleavage by way of another decorative cut-out. The miniskirt gives way to sheer hose just an ilm or two beneath the fabric, offering just the barest glimpse of her thighs. A pair of heels rounds the outfit out.

Gods, he’s never wanted to touch her more.

He has to turn away lest his imagination run with him entirely. He has little doubt that she’s aware of his attraction to her, but he can’t simply stand here and _ogle_ her. She is the Warrior of Light, and he—

Well. He knows how he feels about her. But that is no reason to make her uncomfortable (or worse). He swallows, thickly, and wishes he could hide behind his hood again.

He has no idea how he keeps his voice even. “Are you heading back to the Source, then?”

“Later,” she replies. “There’s something I have to do first.”

“Oh?” There, casual interest. That’s fine. He can manage that. “Is— is there anything I can do to assist?”

“Hmm... just one thing.”

She’s closer, now, though he doesn’t dare look. He’s not sure what would happen if he did. Already he’s balling his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her the way he desperately wants to.

Help her. Help her, and then maybe he can disappear into his private rooms and indulge in fantasy. He just has to keep from throwing himself at her and offering to do whatever she—

Her fingers graze his cheek, barely scoring the crystal. He flinches, a fresh blush blooming across his cheeks, but she does no more than guide his gaze back to hers.

A coy smile graces her lips. “I want you to give in,” she murmurs, and then her lips are on his.

This is it. He can die happy. The Warrior of Light, his hero, his inspiration, is kissing him. His lips part against hers as he gasps — and she simply takes that for invitation. She pulls him close against her, tongue flicking against his lips, a pleased noise escaping her own. She runs her hand through his hair, cupping his ear—

He can’t help it, he truly can’t. His knees buckle. She catches him, because _of course she does_ , but rather than hoist him upright she guides the both of them down to the crystalline floor.

He starts to whisper her name, but she muffles it in another kiss, gentler somehow. “Come on, Raha,” she murmurs, and he shudders in her arms. “It’s okay. You can give in.”

 _Gods_ , does he want to. He’d never realized until this very moment how much he’s longed to submit to the basest of his desires — or, likewise, how he’s yearned to be given _permission_. He’s never denied his feelings for her, not to himself, but it has been easier to suppress them, to ignore the racing of his own heart. To pretend she isn’t the star of his every fantasy.

And yet, despite the press of her body against his, he still manages to find some measure of propriety within himself. “Are— are you sure? You needn’t— if this is not your wish, I—“

A breathless laugh cuts him off, along with another warm kiss. “I am _exactly_ where I want to be, Raha. I’ve wanted this for a long time.” She hesitates, her smile dimming. “But if you don’t— if this is too fast—”

Too _fast?_ He’s wanted this, wanted _her_ , for over a century. That she possesses even the slightest desire for him makes his heart somersault in his chest. Before he can lose his nerve he kisses her again, pulling her body flush against his.

As if he could ever deny her anything. As if he could ever want to.

Gods, but she’s so _warm_. Even his crystalline fingers, with their muted sense of touch, can feel the heat of her flesh. And her _lips_. He’s dreamt of kissing her for so long that to be granted the honor is overwhelming.

She nips at his jaw as she draws back, another mischievous smile gracing her lips. “As nice as this is, I’m _sure_ you must have a bed in here somewhere.”

There goes his composure again. He’s barely even caught up to _this_ ; how can he possibly conceive of taking her to bed? _His_ bed, where he’s pleasured himself countless times to nothing but the idea of her.

“Unless you’d prefer not to?” she ventures, and to his horror she’s pulling away, her gaze marred by uncertainty. He has no idea what expression _he’s_ wearing past this infernal blush, and does not even try to right himself. Instead he reaches out to the Tower— and as always, it yields.

They land atop his bed with a flicker of aether that travels up his arm and makes him shiver. Too much, for a simple teleport — but she is not attuned to his makeshift aethernet. He has never thought she’d even see these chambers.

And indeed, she casts a curious glance around the (admittedly sparse) room, but within a moment the full force of her attention is back on him. She grins, wickedly. “ _My_ , aren’t you forward.”

“It was your idea,” he mutters, almost on instinct.

“True.” Her smile softens as she traces the outline of his jaw, not once shying away from the crystal. Her gloves are smooth against his skin, a leather that nearly feels like silk. “And I’ve had this idea for a long time.”

His beautiful, mighty Warrior gazes down at him with nothing short of adoration. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion,” she says, wryly.

It’s all he can do to choke out a laugh. He covers her hand with his, daring to lace their fingers together and delighting when she squeezes back. “You know how much I care for you.”

“I do,” she murmurs, and she can’t seem to help another grin, gentler this time. “You’re terrible at hiding it. I don’t even think you try.”

“Not anymore,” he admits. “I saw little point in it. You know as well as I all you have done for my sake. Never did I presume you would...”

Her grin widens as his blush returns with full force. “Jump you in the Ocular?”

“In so many words,” he huffs. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You are not wont to let things lie.”

“When it comes to you? Never.” She shifts atop him, rising up on her knees and sliding downward so that she might favor him with another kiss. It’s slower, softer, but no less welcome than those they’ve already shared. When they part, there is no question _who_ is looking back at him.

“We have a second chance,” the Warrior of Light whispers. “I’m not letting go of you this time, Raha.”

Tears spill from his eyes before he can think to stop them. It is not the first time she has used his name, but this— this is his every dream coming true at once. He never knew a person could feel like this, so overwhelmed with simple _joy_ to make one weep.

Yet before he can declare his affections in return, she presses another kiss to his lips. “Later,” she breathes. “Words can come later. I _want_ you, Raha.”

She perches in his lap, _precisely_ atop a particular part of his anatomy, and _smirks_. By the gods, it’s all he can do not to lose himself then and there.

And then she _moves_. “Come on, Raha,” she teases, rocking her hips just _so_ against him. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what to do.”

He does, he _knows_ he does, but in the moment he is little more than a century of smothered desire. He’s been hard from the moment she walked into the Ocular and this is simply too—

She bends over him, offering him a truly unbelievable view of her cleavage, still constrained by that too-snug top. “Touch me,” she purrs.

He’s gone.

It’s so quick he can’t stop himself, can’t even _try_. He comes right there in his own robes in such a rush of bliss he can do little but moan and arch beneath her on his bed. He does not typically deny himself pleasure, yet it feels as though he’s done just that from the sheer ecstasy of it.

...An ecstasy that rapidly dims as he realizes just what he’s done. He can do little but cover his face with his hands. “Pray— pray forgive me,” he half-mumbles, half- _begs_. Truly this is the greatest shame he’s ever endured, and he does not even deserve to look at her—

But already she’s prying his hands away with a low, affectionate laugh. “Don’t apologize unless _once_ is all you can manage, old man.”

By the gods, it’s as though every last thing she says is _meant_ to give him fits. (Knowing her, it likely is.) He starts stammering out some sort of heated affirmation, but it’s as though she doesn’t even want it. For once again she’s rising up on her knees, upright this time and still wearing that wicked grin of hers.

“Though now that you’ve gone and started the party, it’s only fair you return the favor,” she hums. “Don’t you agree?”

Her hands drop to her waist as she adjusts the miniskirt. It is a testament to how often he’s imagined this very thing that the implication is not lost on his orgasm-blurred mind.

“Absolutely,” he breathes.

Her lips curl. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

It is something of an embarrassment that he genuinely feels more coordinated now that he’s gotten an orgasm out of his system. He’s still turned on, of course, and he has never needed much of a reprieve besides, but he’s grateful to be allowed to focus on her alone for the time being. His hands cover hers on her hips, but rather than tease the miniskirt down her legs he instead guides her towards him.

He’s been waiting for this _far_ too long to do anything but take his time.

He hardly expected when she walked in to get a close look at her miniskirt, but now that he is, he cannot help but marvel at it anew. It’s so _incredibly_ short that even if not for his present position between her thighs, there truly was no hiding her pantyline. The fabric is so snug that though it flares out at the sides, there’s almost no give close to her skin.

The realization makes him stare up at her, astonished all over again. “You didn’t _truly_ do battle wearing this.”

“Sure did.”

“I— _how?_ ” He _knows_ what her lancework is like: death-defying jumps and precise movements as she flies across the battlefield. “Surely it limited your movement?”

She winks and spreads her legs an ilm wider. “Why do you think it’s so short?”

Any argument he might have had about the poor logic in that statement falls away as he gets a fresh eyeful of her panties. They’re pure white, which simply makes them stand out all the more against the dark skirt.

He can wait no longer. His fingers slip between her legs, yearning to touch, to please, to delight. He traces the outline of her lips through the fabric and earns a low, breathy sigh from his beloved hero.

“Go on,” she urges.

He needs no further encouragement. He slips his fingers between her lips, stroking, spreading, searching— _there_. Her clit is a firm nub against the fabric, and as he gently cups it with his fingers, her thighs quiver.

“ _Raha—_ ”

There is no sweeter sound than her name on his lips like this. She is not as close to the edge as he was, but the dampness of her panties does as much as the razor-edge of desire in her voice to betray the depth of her need.

Which is why he keeps his every touch profoundly gentle. He has no desire to send her over the edge with the same immediacy as he himself succumbed. He has been granted the gift of the Warrior of Light in his bed, and he wants nothing but to ensure she leaves it _fully_ satisfied.

It does not take her long to realize. “You’re— you’re teasing,” she says between tiny shivers. “Raha, come _on—_ ”

“I think not,” he replies, serenely. “You are owed a favor, and I should not like my recompense to be aught but thorough.”

She laughs, breathlessly. “Don’t _talk_ like that when your hand’s in my pants, you old fool.”

Her own hands drop to her waist once again, but he uses his free hand to stay her. “Please, my love. I promise I will not leave you bereft. I ask only for patience.”

“Like I can be patient when you’re—“ She hisses as his fingers cup her clit again, carefully stroking her through the panties. “Raha—”

He simply smiles. His crystalline hand is much alike the spoken, but he knows it is far easier to apply pressure with fingers of living stone over simple flesh. Even his gentle touches carry more weight — and more pleasure.

Yet he does not wish to deny her overmuch. He would rather not cause her to move away, even for a moment, but he does need to be rid of these panties.

Well. She is a rather deft hand at weaving.

“Do forgive me,” he hums, eyes glinting, as he takes hold of her panties and _rips_. For all that she had claimed the garment sturdy, it comes away easily, and leaves her wonderfully, _blessedly_ bare.

She lets out a sharp noise of surprise that morphs into a laugh as she realizes what he’s done. “ _Raha!_ You filthy little—”

But the time for words is past. He adores the sound of her voice, knowing as he does how rarely she relies upon it, but right now he wants nothing but to have her abandon words entirely. He offers her one last grin and buries his face between her thighs.

 _Gods_ , it’s even better than he’d dreamed. Her scent alone makes his tail coil tight beneath his robes: a blend of battle-weary musk and fervent desire on top of the faint floral perfume she always adorns herself with. He had been intending to make her wait, to hear her beg for him to do more, but he cannot bring himself to resist. His tongue curls over her clit and _oh_ she’s so _warm_ , warm and wet and _gods above_ to finally be able to taste her—

“ _Raha—”_  
_  
_ She buries gloved fingers in his hair and lets out such a sharp, needy moan it makes his own toes curl. “Raha, _Raha_ it’s too _much—_ ”

He can feel her thighs tensing against his cheeks, but he did not realize she was _quite_ that close. He draws back an ilm or so, leaving naught but the tip of his tongue to tease her clit, and earns an even sharper noise as she cants her hips down toward him. “Raha, _please—_ ”

He cannot think to deny her. He never has. He has imagined this a thousand times, and in each one he holds her here until she can do nothing but beg. Reality, he finds, is far simpler: it is _he_ who cannot resist. He who cannot bear to leave her unsatisfied. He who needs this, more than he’ll ever be able to tell her.

Gods, he loves her.

He presses the flat of his tongue against her clit as he pushes two crystalline fingers inside her and just like that she’s _gone_. Her fingers dig into the back of his skull as her back arches in sheer bliss. All the while he continues to tease her, pressing his tongue right against her clit as his fingers curl inside her. Whether she reaches her peak more than once he is not entirely sure, for it feels as though she’ll never stop trembling against him.

It matters not. The only thing that _does_ is the sheer ecstasy he can see in her eyes and hear in the moans spilling from her lips. And for all that he had intended to take himself in hand alongside her, he finds himself so utterly spellbound that the notion slips his mind entirely.

He cannot say how long it is before she pushes him away from her sex. His slick fingers slide out of her, and before he can wipe them clean, her unsteady fingers twine with his. For a long, perfect moment, she does not speak, and he does not attempt to.

At long last she favors him with a fond smile. “You ripped my panties.”

He chuckles, even as his cheeks redden. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“Liar.” She scoots backwards, a bit haphazardly, and tumbles onto the bed beside him, never once releasing his hand. She’s still smiling, but there’s a glint in her eye. “You’re fixing it.”

He is hardly the mender she is, but he isn’t about to argue. “As you wish, my love.”

The endearment slips out without any intent on his part — but he wouldn’t take it back even if he could. To his joy, her smile widens even further as she leans in to kiss him, a far chaster touch than those previous.

All too soon she pulls away, made worse by the regret he can see behind her eyes. “I can’t stay,” she sighs. “I promised Tataru I’d follow up on the leads Estinien left. I’m sorry.”

He squeezes her hand and shakes his head. “You need not apologize to me, my love. There are many more who need you.”

“Would that they didn’t,” the Warrior of Light murmurs, almost too softly to hear. She covers it with a small, quiet smile and brushes his hair back from his face. “I’ll be back, Raha. No matter what, I’ll come back to you.” Her smile turns knowing. “Wait for me?”

“Always,” he whispers. “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter at [larissacreates](https://twitter.com/larissacreates) (writing and projects) and [farfromdaylight](https://twitter.com/farfromdaylight) (general ff14 yelling, screencaps, rts, etc).


End file.
